


Easily Solved

by afteriwake



Series: Undead Is The New Alive [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty is making good on his threat to drive Molly crazy in revenge for having him killed. Today it's riddle after riddle. Finally having had enough, she tells him to try his hand at unsolvable riddles. He obliges, forgetting for a moment exactly who Molly's boyfriend is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easily Solved

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun with this one, I really did. Answers the "Riddles/Puzzles" prompt on my Both Shows card at **land_deduction**.

“Riddle me this, Molly. When is a raven like a writing desk?”

She shut her eyes. She hated to admit it, but Moriarty really was starting to fulfill his threat of driving her crazy. Being a ghost meant he didn't have to breathe, and not having to breathe meant that there was a never ending stream of chatter directed at her when she was at work. For the last week she'd drowned him out by listening to music as she performed her autopsies, but today she'd rushed out of her new home and left her iPod in her bedroom, and Sherlock couldn't bring it to her for another three hours. So for now she was forced to listen to him go on and on. He'd been throwing riddles at her for the last hour. “I don't have time for riddles, Jim.”

“ _Make_ time,” he snapped.

“For the last time, Jim, I need to work.”

“And I needed to keep living. Strange how that worked out.” He moved over towards her, stepping through her. Once again, she felt ice cold when he did that, and she resisted the urge to gasp at the sensation. He'd get too much of a kick out of it, she decided. “It's all your fault I'm here, anyway.”

“Do we need to go over whose fault this all is again?” she said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If you hadn't tried to get me to kill Sherlock none of us would have been on that roof, and if none of us had been on that roof you wouldn't have had Sherlock shot, and if you hadn't shot him I wouldn't have moved you in the path of the second bullet. So it's all your own fault you're dead.”

“If you'd just been a good little vampire and done what should come naturally it all would have gone differently,” he pointed out.

“And Sherlock would be dead, which only would have made one of us happy.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “So kindly keep your mouth shut when it comes to blaming me for what happened.”

“I'm always going to blame you,” he said, glaring at her.

She sighed. “Fine. Have it your way. I need to get back to work now.”

“Well, I want to annoy you. It's what I exist for now.”

“At least do something interesting, then,” she said. “Try something like an unsolvable riddle.”

“Take away my first letter and I am unchanged. Take away my second letter and I am unchanged. Take away all my remaining letters and I am still unchanged. What am I?”

“A mailbox,” she said, shaking her head. “Was that supposed to be a hard riddle?”

He blinked slightly. “Fine. Let's try another one. When or where does ninety-nine plus one equal sixty?”

She thought for a minute. “Ninety-nine percent of an hour leaves one minute. Therefore ninety-nine plus one equals sixty minutes.”

“These are supposed to be unsolvable,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“You aren't dating Sherlock,” she said as she crossed her arms. “I've heard most of these before.”

“I'll stump you,” he replied. He began to pace to her side. “I own a shop. The first day I have thirteen customers. The second day I have fourteen customers. The third day I have ninety-five and the fourth I have sixty-two. What is the next amount of customers I'll have?”

“Do you want the simple answer or the complicated one?” she said.

“There can't be two answers to a riddle!” he said.

“Well, the simple answer is one, because only one customer at a time can come through your door. The more complicated answer is thirty-five. Sherlock explained the complicated answer but essentially it has to do with reversing numbers and the mathematical sequence of pi. I was the one who came up with the other answer and he conceded I had a point.”

“You are absolutely ruining this,” he said.

“I am rather hoping you'll get bored and go haunt a little old lady somewhere else, yes,” she said with a nod. “But feel free to keep going.”

“Fine. My first, a word most near my heart. My next, a very large and heavy cart. My last, an implement that makes a bed. My whole, a story widely loved and read.”

“Ivanhoe.”

“How did you get that?” he asked, incredulously.

“The first word is I, the second word is van, and the third word is hoe. All together that's Ivanhoe.” She shrugged. “You have to have something more difficult than that.”

He glared at her. “Eternally I am one to six. Eternally I am fifteen to twenty. I am always five, but I am never twenty-one unless I'm flying. What am I?”

“A six-sided die,” she said. “Next riddle?”

“I'm like an eagle strutting in a line,” Moriarty said, starting to get annoyed. “My beak before, my eyes behind.”

“Sherlock didn't even need to tell me the answer to that one. It's a peacock. Are you sure these are supposed to be challenging?”

“They're supposed to be unsolvable,” he snapped.

“And as I said, Sherlock solves these without having to think too hard,” she said. “So do you really want to keep trying, or do you want to go sulk somewhere else in this hospital and not have to look at me?”

“One more. If you get it I'll leave, but if you don't you have to keep listening to me go on and on and on.”

“Give it your best shot, then.” She planted her hands on the autopsy table. “Ready when you are.”

“I can tell you what the sun can, I might keep you up at night, I will do as you tell me, I can take many shapes and only part of me moves. What am I?”

“Really? That's the best you've got?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “It's a clock, Jim.”

He scowled at her. “There are days I rather hate you, Molly.”

“I'm sure you hate me most of the time. You've made that fact plainly known since you began haunting me. I'm used to it.” She made a motion with her hand. “Go bother someone else in this hospital, Jim. Unless you want me to call Sherlock and you can play the riddle game with him, which I honestly think will be even more frustrating because he'll cut you off before you finish the riddle.”

“I'm leaving,” he grumbled. “But I'll be back tomorrow.”

“And I'll make sure tomorrow I have my music,” she said. She watched him walk towards the doors and then walk through them, and she took a moment to enjoy the bliss that was absolute silence. Knowing her luck he'd get bored and turn right back around and bother her some more, but at least for now she could work in peace, and she was profoundly grateful for that.


End file.
